Whispers
by Daniko
Summary: Slash. Sometimes, a fresh start is not something that can be done . . .


**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairing:** Durand/D'Eon  
**Words: **~800

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on events and characters belonging to Tow Ubukata and associates. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warnings: **Slash, psychological disturbance, strong language; AU.  
**Summary: **Sometimes, a fresh start is not something that can be done . . .

**Notes:** A bit dark and a bit cliché… Enjoy!

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**WHISPERS**

By Daniko

The small fishing town they chose was more of a native village than an actual a British colony, but it suited them just fine; the natives didn't want anything to do with people from the Mother Land and the other pioneers had ended up in No-Man's-Land for roughly the same reasons as Durand and Lia and kept to their own business likewise, their heads low and eyes averted.

It might be the reason they never noticed Lia's rather androgynous features and facial hair or the flatness of her chest enclosed in a tight velvet corset. Or how she clung to Durand's single arm whenever they went out and Durand, mangled and weathered from physical exertion, obviously a soldier - maybe a deserter? - charmed certainly the vicar's daughter, maybe the pharmacist's wife and definitely the whores of the Red District with what was only the shadow of a boyish grin.

On that particular day, Durand and Lia were sitting, back to back, on a threadbare blanket beneath the falling autumn leaves, surrounded by a sea of gold and gray, with the wind blowing softly around them. Durand was picking the earth with a dry stick and Lia had a second-hand book on her lap.

"I heard Robespierre is taking the guillotine," she said quietly. "It kind of makes me want to be there to say goodbye."

The jab hitting something possessive inside of him he'd rather not face, Durand stopped and laid back, his head resting next to Lia's thigh, and looked up at her. "He's not Maximillien . . . you know that, right?"

Lia shrugged. "I liked Robin, nonetheless."

They stayed silent for a while, before Durand sat up and shifted closer to Lia; he leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek, an awkward caress that spoke about the novelty of it all, just meant as a comforting gesture that he didn't quite managed to pull off. Lia's eyes burned and she leaned into him, cheeks aflame and body already ready for him. Always ready for him.

Their lips met sloppily, but eagerly, as Lia pushed Durand onto his back and hoisted up her multiple skirts to straddle him. Durand groaned lowly in his throat when she humped against his leg. "D'eon!" he groaned, half a plea, half a claim.

Lia froze, her eyes sad and sorry, before taking his mouth fiercely and shifting faster against him. "Durand." His hand sneaked up her legs and into her underwear, closing a hand around the hard flesh inside and she choked back a whine while pushing herself into his hand.

Durand moved his hand lower until he found the puckered opening and pushed a finger inside, while jerking her corset open and roughly caressing the flushed chest. "D'eon, come on, take it off."

Lia shoved it all away, throwing the dress onto the grass and rising up on top of Durand again, her pale body glistening with sweat against the dusk light and blonde hair falling into her back, a picture of innocent debauchery, and Durand never wanted her—_him,_ damn it—as much as right then. He threw his head back and moaned when she sat down on his cock, his body jerking in pleasure as she started to move against him. "D'eon!"

"It's Lia, Durand, please call me Lia." There were tears in her eyes as she moved, breath fast and cheeks pink, but her expression showed enough awareness for Durand to know that it was D'Eon with him right then, giving him a lifetime of pleasure in just one fuck. Like always.

"That's not your name," he gasped, using his one arm as leverage to thrust into the man atop of him. "Not who you are."

"Ah, yes!" D'Eon cried, hand coming up to stroke himself, moving faster and deeper, both of them taking pleasure in the sounds of the nature soiled by skin slapping against skin, the smell of dry leaves and damp dirt overcome by the smell of arousal. "Faster, faster, please faster!" D'Eon was chanting, bobbing his body fiercely, with so much strength and unabashed need in his thrusts that soon he wrenched ecstasy from Durand, eyes locking until the fierce glint in D'Eon's faded to give way to a soft glow.

"My brother's love, aren't you?" Lia asked fondly, her voice mellow and sweet and so not what Durand wanted. "I promise he'll come again tonight . . . you like holding him while he sleeps, don't you?"

Durand pondered telling her to go fuck herself, she was not what—_who_—he wanted, she should let _him_ go, but she wasn't real – she had been long gone among the purifying flames of heaven – and only lived inside D'Eon's fragmented mind. So, Durand had to do what he always did, "Yes, I do. I need him here with me."

A sudden awareness gleamed in her expression and she averted her eyes – maybe ashamed, maybe frightened of finally being left behind – and she said, "I'll tell him," but Durand was sure D'Eon already knew.

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THE END


End file.
